Tongues and Rice balls

The wolf girl slumped against him, her head heavy on his shoulder, her body trembling with exhaustion and cold. Yuta didn't dare to try anything.

What am I supposed to do?

Her claws, still faintly stained with dried blood, gripped the sleeve of his wrinkled dress shirt. Even in this state, her inhuman strength pinned him to the spot. Her ear twitched against his collar.

He glanced at the steel jaws of the snare, still clamped around her swollen ankle. Rust bit into her skin, angry red and crusted with dried blood. The sight made his stomach turn.

If I don't help her get free, she's going to die.

Yuta pulled away, just enough to reach for the trap. The wolf girl let out a faint growl, instinctive, protective — then realized what he was doing. Her ears flicked back, and she went quiet, watching him with wary, half-lidded eyes.

He exhaled. "I'm going to get you out, okay?"

No answer — just ragged breathing and a shiver that raked through her shoulders.

The snare's mechanism was ancient, probably homemade. His hands slipped more than once on the wet metal, but after a hard twist and a snapped catch, the iron teeth sprang open with a metallic crack.

The wolf girl let out a gasp, her leg jolting as the blood finally rushed back into crushed tissue.

She sagged against him, half-conscious, and for one terrifying second he thought she might faint.

"Hey— stay with me."

Her eyes fluttered. "…mine," she whispered again, softer, slurred by pain.

"Yeah, okay," he sighed, as if agreeing might calm her down.

He knew he couldn't carry her far. He barely had the strength to haul himself around, let alone a half-beast girl covered in muscle and fur. But he couldn't leave her here, not bleeding and broken.

Yuta braced his shoulders, carefully looping one of her arms around his neck. She flinched at the movement, sharp canines showing for an instant, but didn't bite him.

Instead, she leaned in, burying her nose against his skin, breathing him in like a starving animal.

Step by step, he half-carried, half-dragged her through the rain. The world around them blurred in the dark.

Every few meters, she stumbled, her claws digging into his side, but she didn't let go. If anything, her grip got tighter, as if she feared he would vanish if she blinked.

They found a half-rotted log, hollowed by insects and dry on the inside. Better than nothing.

Yuta coaxed her down gently, ignoring the deep ache in his shoulders. The wolf girl slumped against the wall of the hollow, panting like a wounded dog.

I can't leave her like this.

He rummaged through his backpack, hands shaking, pulling out the rice balls. She watched them with those unblinking gold eyes, hungry but wary, like a stray dog that had been beaten too many times to trust anyone.

Yuta broke one in half and offered it.

She sniffed it, then leaned forward, lips brushing his fingers again as she devoured the food with desperate, tearing bites.

It should have been frightening, how quickly she claimed him, how those glowing eyes never looked away. But somehow, the pitiful way she held herself made it impossible for Yuta to be afraid.

After the second rice ball was gone, she shifted closer, curling her tail around herself, trying to stay warm.

"it's freezing." Yuta said, in a shaky voice.

He hesitated, then moved closer. The wolf girl didn't push him away — if anything, she leaned into his side, soaking up the little heat he could offer.

They stayed there for hours.

The rain kept falling, turning the forest floor to mud.

But he couldn't move. Couldn't risk her collapsing again.

Every time he shifted, she let out a faint whimper and clung to his shirt.

So he stayed.

The wolf girl dozed against his chest, occasionally twitching in dreams, her breath slow and heavy. Her tail would brush his knee, then curl protectively back around his legs, as if making sure no one else could have him.

He reached up, almost on instinct, to stroke her damp, tangled hair. She didn't protest.

Something warm settled in his chest, even through the fear and exhaustion.

She's just like me, he realized, stunned. She doesn't want to be alone.

By the time dawn broke, pale light creeping through the trees, he was half-asleep himself, cradling her close.

Somewhere, a bird called, tentative and distant.

The wolf girl stirred, eyes fluttering open.

She looked at him, blinking, confused, as if trying to remember where she was. Then her eyes softened.

Yuta nodded. "It's ok, I'm not going anywhere."

They moved through the quiet forest, slow and awkward, with the wolf girl leaning on him for balance. Every so often she stumbled, her claws catching his shirt, but she refused to let go.

When they paused to rest, Yuta swallowed down his nerves. There was too much he didn't know.

I have to at least try to talk to her.

He cleared his throat, looking into those strange, gold-flecked eyes.

"Can you… understand me?"

She blinked, tilting her head, one ear flicking.

"…under…stand," she echoed, careful and slow.

His heart jumped. "Yeah? You do?"

She made a small noise — halfway between a growl and a hum — and nodded. "Little."

"Okay," he sighed, relieved. "That's good. That's really good."

She watched his mouth as he spoke, eyes sharp, studying every movement like she might memorize it.

Yuta thought for a second, then gestured around them. "This place. Do you know… where we are?"

She hesitated, ears drooping. "…forest."

He let out a faint laugh, a nervous edge to it. "Yeah, I figured that much."

She frowned, clearly frustrated, searching for more words. "…bad place. Hunt. Trap."

His chest tightened. She must've been hunted. Caged.

"Who… who hurt you?" he tried.

She bared her teeth, a shiver running through her shoulders. Her tail bristled. "…bad men," she said, voice low, as if the memory alone tasted poisonous.

"Bad men," Yuta repeated softly. "Right."

She shifted closer, brushing his arm with the tips of her claws — gently, though, like a warning. "No go. No back."

"Yeah," he agreed, voice steady. "No going back."

For a while they sat like that, the hush of the forest pressing around them. Yuta pointed at things in the clearing:

"Tree."

"Rock."

"Stream."

She repeated each word, a bit clumsy, tongue catching on hard consonants, but eager. Her tail even flicked happily when she got one right, like a proud child.

When he gestured at himself, he spoke clearly. "Yu-ta."

"Yu…ta."

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Yuta."

Her face softened. Then she touched her own chest, fur matted and still damp.

"…Rin."

Yuta blinked. "Rin?"

She nodded, expression determined. "Rin. Mine name."

"Rin." The name suited her, somehow wild and gentle at once. "Okay. Nice to meet you, Rin."

Her cheeks colored faintly at the praise, golden eyes wide and soft.

After a moment, Yuta took a chance to ask more.

"Rin," he said carefully, "do you know… about this world? People? Towns?"

She tilted her head, ears twitching. "…people bad. Hunt me."

That answered enough.

Yuta sighed, shoulders sinking. Great. No maps, no towns, no clue how to survive.

But Rin, seeing the worry on his face, leaned forward and nudged his chin lightly with her nose — a wolfish comfort gesture.

"No bad," she whispered. "I protect."

He almost laughed, but the sound came out choked. You're the one who needs protecting, he thought, but couldn't say it out loud.

They stood again, and Yuta tried to set a direction — toward sunlight, hoping it might lead to open ground or even a village. Rin stayed close, one hand tangled in his sleeve like she'd never let go again.

"Yuta," she murmured as they moved, testing the name on her tongue.

"Yeah?"

She hesitated, then spoke with intense seriousness:

"Mine."

His heart jumped. "Right," he sighed, resigned. "Yours."

The path ahead was overgrown, and Yuta's stomach growled so loud it made Rin's ears perk up.

"Hunt," she said, a fierce light in her eyes. "I help."

He raised a brow. "You can hunt?"

She nodded, baring sharp teeth in a grin that was equal parts terrifying and cute.

"Food," she explained, voice growing more confident by the second.

And before he could argue, she squeezed his hand and set off at a surprising speed, limping only slightly.

Yuta stumbled after her, thoughts reeling.

She learns fast. Too fast.

But as her tail brushed against his leg, a quiet, warm hope started to bloom in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to face this world alone.